Текст песни
He was a good hand breaking horses
Pure poison with the rope
He lives for strong black coffee and
The rolling of his smokes
He throws a leg up on old Ranger
Sticks a round into his hide
Saddled there in his easy chair
Through his memory he still rides
While shaking out a good loop
He picks his ashes on the floor
He's a-branding for Sam Williams
Who he loved working for
In the air he draws a picture
With a cigarette in his hand
As his fingers make the last stroke
In the smoke I see the brand
Whoopee tie-aye isn't on his way
Didn't choose his line of work
There's no silver on his saddle
And no fringe upon his shirt
Well I'd give the world to be like him
Born ninety years ago
'Cause when the master's hands made this man
He put a cowboy in his soul
In the middle of his stories
He pushes out of his chair
Shuffles out to the barn
And hollers me out there
He points up to his saddle
In that dusty hideaway
He says he'd like to give it to me
But he might need it someday
Whoopee tie-aye isn't on his way
Didn't choose his line of work
There's no silver on his saddle
And no fringe upon his shirt
Well I'd give the world to be like him
Born ninety years ago
'Cause when the master's hands made this man
He put a cowboy in his soul
Well I'd give the world to be like him
Born ninety years ago
'Cause when the master's hands made this man
He put a cowboy in his soul